


Chasing Visions of Our Future

by CharWright5



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Angst, Drama, Kendall and Lucy are bros in a way, M/M, Oral Sex, Reincarnation, Rimming, Romance, Smut, Soul Mate AU, bartender!james, friends being jerks but with good intentions, tattoo artist!Kendall, tattoo artist!Lucy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:32:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharWright5/pseuds/CharWright5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yes, Kendall did believe in soul mates. Yes, Kendall did believe his was out there somewhere. No, Kendall did not believe that he and said soul mate had been together in several past lives, despite his weird dreams about living during other time periods with a guy named James.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skyline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/gifts).



> Written for the BTR Fic Exchange on AO3 and, more specifically, for the super awesome, incredibly amazing, fantasmigorical Cassie who prompted Kames (with a side of Lucy/Mercedes) with reincarnation, angst, porn, chain-mail, leather, and badassery. Hopefully I fulfilled your request and gave you something you like. Also, I SWEAR I NEVER MEANT FOR IT TO BE THIS LONG, MY BRAIN JUST HATES ME, AND THE PLOT RAN AWAY WITH THE SPOON. Or something. Point is, wow, did this thing end up bigger than I thought it'd be. Typical me really...
> 
> BTR is property of Scott Fellows and Nickelodeon (maybe possibly who knows if that's still true and who actually cares). I just stole them, plopped them somewhere else, and made them do other stuff including porn. It's what I do. Anything else that's mentioned is property of whatever companies own them. Title from “Youth” by Daughter because awesomeness, that's why.

_They were going to be caught, Kendall was most certain. Yet at that moment, he just could not muster the ability to care. Instead, his eyes closed, head tilting back against the down-filled pillow, hips bucking up and thrusting his cock further inside James' mouth._

_James._ Sir _James._ His _James. Their relationship was forbidden on several levels, even if he wasn't already promised to Princess Josephine. Kendall was the Crown Prince of their kingdom, James the knight assigned to protect him at all costs, not to mention the fact that the two of them were both males. The intimate acts the two of them participated in were meant to be performed between two who were married, not two who were not even courting. They were sinning, breaking every covenant._

_Yet Kendall just did not care._

_Because every time he looked at James, he felt his heart lurch within his chest, his stomach twisting and tying up, his skin tingling. He often found himself thinking of tan skin, white teeth, and tawny hair. His nighttime reveries consisted of eyes that were a blend of browns and greens and lips that were kissed red and swollen._

_He knew that his behavior was not fair towards Princess Josephine. After all, she was a female of worth, beautiful with blonde curls and fair skin. She would provide him with attractive children who would carry on the family line and one day rule as he would. The two of them got along well and being married to her would not be a hardship on any plane. Yet she did send his heart racing or create flutters in his stomach the way Sir James did._

_The way he did to Sir James._

_So it was with this that the two of them kept their relationship hidden, that they only acted upon their feelings behind closed doors. They made sure the rest of the castle was asleep, Sir James creeping through hidden passageways and leaving his heavy chain-mail behind in his own chambers, dressed solely in his sleep clothes._

_Not that they were on him for long. For when the two of them were alone together, the clothes were removed and they would fall into bed naked as the day they were born. At that moment, they were no longer prince and knight, simply Kendall and James, two men who adored one another and who gave in to their bodies desires._

_James had pinned Kendall down to the bed with large arms, taking advantage of the strength he gained through fighting, muscles he'd developed through training. His lips had trailed hot kisses down a more lithe body, not pausing until they arrived at their destination: the hard length jutting out from between the blond's hips. He had left teasing licks and small kisses before swallowing him down to the root, moaning as though he was the one receiving the pleasure rather than giving it._

_Firm hands held him down by his hips, Kendall's teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He felt the flutter of James' throat at the head of his cock, the sensation making him gasp. Fingers tangled in brown locks, the shaggy lengths soft between the digits as they tugged, making his partner groan louder._

_It had been long,_ too _long since they'd been together that way, Kendall busy with visiting royals, his schedule full of balls and dinners, with courting Princess Josephine and taking chaperoned outings. He and James had agreed that they did not want to risk being caught and had lain low, the brunet not visiting in the night. But now, their guests were gone and they were allowed to be together once again, a fortnight of loneliness catching up and making them more desperate for one another._

_“James,” he gasped out, back arching, eyes widening in pleasure._

_The other male did not respond—could not respond really. He pulled back, leaving just the head inside his mouth, sucking on it hard as though trying to pull something out. And mayhaps he was, for Kendall could feel something building up inside, could feel a gathering at the base of his spine, that familiar tingle that occurred just before he exploded all over in ecstasy._

_“Close,” he breathed, swallowing hard, throat clicking. “Please. So close.”_

_A hand moved from his hips, sliding up along the bed covering to where Kendall had his own fist clenching at the fabric. James untangled his fingers, entwining them, something he always did whenever one of them was about to orgasm. And as his eyes flicked up, the brown-green mixture meeting green, Kendall felt his body coil up, readying itself to burst—_

A pillow being whacked on his face woke Kendall up from his slumber—and his awesome yet confusing dream—causing him to flail slightly as he sat up. His head jerked around as he took in his surroundings, his sleep-fuzzy brain taking several minutes to catch up. He wasn't in a Medieval castle, wasn't the Crown Prince of anything or anywhere, hell, he wasn't even a knight despite his surname declaring he was. He was just a regular guy in his early twenties in a one-room apartment in downtown Newtown, Minnesota.

A one-room apartment he'd barely managed to pay the rent for on time. He was pretty sure there'd been an eviction notice in his landlord's hand when he knocked to hand over the cash he owed.

Shit.

Shoving a hand through messy blond locks that he'd cut himself, he roamed his green eyes about, the orbs settling on a petite Asian sitting on his bed, smug smile on her face, black and red streaked hair hanging straight down around her shoulders.

And a pillow on her lap.

Of fucking course.

Drawing his brow down into a frown, he glared at his best friend, wondering if he shouldn't revoke her status as such. Then again, his only other real option there would be to just promote her girlfriend Mercedes to his number one best friend, meaning he'd still be stuck with Lucy hanging around and beating him with his own property.

Best just to leave things as they were.

Didn't mean he wouldn't complain like hell about her treatment of him.

“What the fuck?” he grumbled, voice sleep rough and gravelly, eyes narrowed in a glare.

Lucy simply kept smirking, leaning her weight on one hand, brown eyes sparkling through heavy black eyeliner. “It's seven pm,” she pointed out, because apparently he didn't have an alarm clock or eyes to look at it or anything. “You need to get your ass outta bed.”

A snort made its way out his nose before he could even think of any sort of response, his entire body bobbing with the sound. He dropped his hand onto his lap, slapping against the comforter, then lifted it up again and scratched at his t-shirt covered chest. In the back of his mind he registered the fact that he was in sweats while Lucy was fully dressed in a pair of leather pants and a Children of Bodom shirt that she had tied at the front, revealing a pierced naval with plain black ring in it. Her ears were lined with silver rings all along the cartilage, ball piercing on her bottom lip, sleeve of Japanese tattoos covering her right arm. She had a Phoenix on her back that was hidden by her tee and the only reason he knew it was there was because he'd inked it on himself.

In turn she'd done his own dragon back-piece at half price. Benes of having tattoo artist friends he figured.

Kendall scratched his own tattoo covered forearm, chewed on nails grazing over the colorful ink that had been added onto for about eight years now. His first had come courtesy of Lucy, too, a cheesy heart with “Mom” on the inside of his elbow he'd drunkenly thought would get him in less trouble for getting tattooed at age fifteen. And for drinking. And for being out all night.

He'd been wrong.

Tat still looked good though.

Clearing his throat, he continued to frown at his friend/ co-worker/ cause of most of his teenage groundings, trying to focus on the conversation at hand and not at the fact that half his right arm still wasn't inked and how that bummed him out at times. “I have the day off,” he informed her, fingering at the ring in his left eyebrow. “And I was up 'til about four drawing a piece for a client.”

Lucy perked up at that, sitting up straighter, eyebrows raising in interest. “Can I see?”

“No,” he replied flatly, double-checking the black gauges in his ears before finally just dropping his hands onto his lap and keeping them there. “Why are you here? And how?” he questioned, mind finally caught up with the situation. Because the last time he'd checked, his door had been locked and the windows latched shut.

He seriously needed to talk to his landlord about the shit-tacular upkeep of this place.

Then again, last time he did that when his shower had decided that draining wasn't a thing it was gonna do, Bitters had informed him that he didn't _have_ to live there and was free to leave at any time, maybe find a place where he could actually pay his rent on time.

Fatass lived up to his name.

Lucy held up a set of keys, the jangle ringing throughout the sparsely decorated apartment. “You gave me a spare,” she reminded him obnoxiously, rolling her dark eyes at him.

“Yeah, for _emergencies_.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and deciding that the how didn't matter so much as the why. “So _why_ are you in my apartment waking me up with my own damn pillow?” he grumbled, snatching back the mentioned item and tucking it behind himself on the pull-out couch he used as a bed.

“One,” she began, holding up a finger with chipped black polish. “You need to get up. And two.” Another finger flicked up. “We're going out.”

Kendall groaned before flopping onto his back, hands covering his face. “We” always meant himself, Lucy, and Mercedes, which further meant he'd be dragged into shenanigans of some form. Most likely due to alcohol. And “going out” pretty much always meant alcohol was involved.

Old habits and all that.

“Why?” he whined, clasped hands over his eyes.

“Because it's my birthday.”

Okay, what?

He moved his hands, cocking a pierced eyebrow at her, lips twisted up in a confused sneer. “Yeah, like, three days ago.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, huffing slightly in annoyance. “Fine,” she grit out. “Birthday _week_.”

“No such thing.”

“There is according to Mercedes.”

Well, that explained shit.

Kendall rolled his own green eyes, snorting again. “Well, Mercedes is a brat, so.” He ended his argument with a one-shouldered shrug, totally not surprised when he received a smack to the stomach hard enough to make him grunt.

“Doesn't matter,” was her only response, not denying the fact that her girlfriend was, in fact, a brat. “We're still going out and you're not gonna complain about anything we do tonight no matter what or I get to test the sharpness of my new Katana on your arm.”

That had Kendall sitting up, clutching both arms close to his chest out of instinct. His best friend had a habit of checking the dullness of the blades on her swords and knives on him, usually by shaving small sections of his arms—which was annoying as hell since he was left with bald patches that itched like hell when the hair grew back. And, of course with Kendall's luck being what it was, she just happened to collect knives and antique swords, meaning there was a lotta blades to test out.

He wondered if he'd ever grow hair back on his arms and keep it.

Then he wondered why she couldn't just test it on his face. Would save him a ton of money on razors.

But the threat aimed at his complaints had his suspicions raising, eyebrow cocking once again. “Why?” he questioned cautiously, staring at her out the corner of narrowed eyes. “What're you subjecting me to that I'd complain about?”

Lucy snorted, running a hand through her hair, light reflecting off a silver ring. “Oh hell no, I'm not telling you beforehand.” She gave him a “bitch please” look that she'd perfected thanks to Mercedes' natural ability to rearrange her facial features into the same expression. Not that she didn't already have all things sassy and snarky down pat. Dealing with both of them together meant Kendall would never win any argument ever.

Hence him being dragged into countless shenanigans he ordinarily wouldn't participate in.

That, plus Lucy's sword and knife collection and Mercedes' love of anything that shot bullets of any description. And maybe also a little bit due to the fact that he'd been raised by a single mom with a younger sister and therefore was programmed to go along with whatever any female told him to do ever.

Thank god he was gay. He'd never get any peace ever otherwise.

A heavy sigh left Kendall, hand shoved through his dead mohawk, blunt nails scratching at his scalp. “Fine,” he breathed out, defeated. “Can I at least have some sorta idea about where we're going so I know what to wear?”

Another snort. “Please. Like you wear anything other than ripped jeans and band tees.”

There was absolutely nothing wrong with that and he stood firm in his belief when it came to his wardrobe. It was one area he was flat out refusing to back down on, despite Mercedes' countless attempts at trying to update his clothing and make him more “fashionable”. He'd seen her idea of what a guy should wear and there was no fucking way he was squeezing himself into jeans that tight, no matter how scrawny his legs may have been.

He waved a hand dismissively at Lucy before shoving his comforter back and hauling himself up off his sofa-bed. Yanking open a drawer, he pulled out the first shirt he could get a hold of, discovering an old tee from a family trip to Medieval Times. After his dream, it seemed fitting.

Switching it with his sleep shirt, he tried not to think of the details of his revery and failed, mind becoming fixated on one facet of it.

James seemed to be in a lot of dreams he was having lately. And he'd never seen the guy before in his life.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It wasn't until they arrived at their actual destination that Kendall finally figured out why Lucy refused to tell him where they were going. Because had he known, there was no fucking way he'd actually join them.

It had to be a joke. There was no other explanation for it. A big fat joke or a prank they were pulling on him. Or they were doing it for shits and giggles, just out of boredom and lack of anything new to do in their small town. Maybe they were a tiny bit curious and thought they'd just check it out and see what the fuss was about. No way were Lucy or Mercedes serious about where they'd dragged him to.

A fucking psychic.

Seriously.

Fuck his life.

The two of them sat at the round table, cushioned ottomans holding them up, the couple seeming completely enraptured by whatever the so-called psychic was spewing. Because there was no way in hell that this chick was for real. Sure, she looked the part, brown curls covered by a tie-dyed scarf, flowy dress hanging off a slender frame, porcelain features and doe eyes making her look innocent and incapable of playing anyone. But her being an actual _psychic_? No fucking way.

Kendall snorted, rolling his eyes away from the woman and her scarf covered table—complete with crystal ball in the middle and tarot cards stacked to the side if for no other reason than the cliché of it all. He had zero interest in whatever it was she was bullshitting his friends about. Hell, he had no interest in being there at all. Lucy and Mercedes had both had to grab an arm each and literally drag him toward the shop once he'd realized it was their destination, spouting promises of shots and “the first round is on me”, more arguments about how it's Lucy's birthday—birthday _week_ , he'd corrected—and therefore he had to do everything she wanted.

Mercedes had backed that up by informing him that she'd packed her Ruger LCP in her Coach purse and that she'd been wondering if she'd be able to shoot a guy's nuts off without damaging his actual dick. Being fond of all parts of his genitalia, Kendall had relented and entered the stupid fucking shop, grumbling the entire time they waited. Because seriously, what kind of psychic didn't know she had customers? Couldn't she sense them coming or something?

He'd cut off the verbal complaints at a death glare from Mercedes, painted pink lips twisting in an angry pout, her Marilyn piercing sparkling from the candles used to light the place. Both ears featured two diamond studs, the pink gems coordinated with the lettering on her black “Pistol Packing Princess” tee. She was tattoo-less, despite spending most of free time at the shop where Lucy and Kendall were employed, having stated that there was no way she could get something permanently etched on herself, if for no other reason than the possibility of it clashing with an outfit or accessory.

Didn't stop the more inked half of the couple from suggesting matching ring tattoos for after their wedding. Kendall had asked when the hell they'd gotten engaged, only to be met by matching “bitch please” looks and promptly deciding he was sorry he asked.

After having been led to a back room—through a beaded curtain, of course—the couple had immediately sat down and listened to the psychic—who'd introduced herself as Camille at that point—as she chatted about how things would work. That was when Kendall had tuned out and began roaming the space, taking in the deep purple walls and dark wooden shelving. He inspected the random items on the shelves, sniffing at bags of incense, cocking an eyebrow at bottles of herbs and supposed potions, grimacing at a human skull that looked too realistic for his comfort.

Seriously, where the hell did one even procure an actual human skull? And how much did it cost, because that would kinda be badass sitting at his station at the shop and he could use it to scare people into cooperating and sitting still. The joking implications that it was a bad tipper practically wrote themselves.

His fingers grazed over leather-bound books in languages he didn't recognize, letters that were more symbols than anything he'd seen before. He sneered at star charts and astrology charts and hand charts displaying the various lines within one's palm and what they meant. He had to resist the temptation of comparing it to his own hand, telling himself it was just boredom that had him curious about his own lifeline and not an actual genuine interest.

He snuck a peek anyway after meandering his way to the other side of the room, wondering what exactly it meant that his supposed lifeline seemed to cross the entirety of his palm.

Then he realized he was being an idiot and shoved it all aside, running his hand through his hair and distracting himself with a small pile of short bones, once again wondering if they were human. He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted them to be, since it meant no animals were harmed in the making of her cliché bullshit space.

“You!”

Kendall's body jerked in surprise where he stood, snatching his hand back to his chest from where it'd been reaching out to touch the bones. Not that it'd help him figure out their origin or anything, but how often did one get to play with pieces of a skeleton?

Outside of, like, forensic anthropologists and such, of course.

He jerked his head to the left, where the female voice that yelled at him originated, watching as Lucy and Mercedes rose to their feet. The two had stars in their eyes—more than usual—small secret smirks on each of their faces as they stepped to the side, hands clasped. Mercedes leaned back against a set of shelves covered in glass bottles, Lucy pressed to her front, arms wrapped around one another as they gazed into one another's eyes.

Kendall cocked a pierced eyebrow at that, wondering what exactly had spurred on the random PDA—not that they really ever needed an excuse or a reason before being disgustingly in love with each other and putting it out there for everyone and their mother to see. But the confusion soon gave way to another feeling, one more familiar in a totally depressing way: loneliness. And admittedly, a little jealousy.

Not that he wanted to be with Mercedes or Lucy, no thank you. He loved them both, but as sisters and he knew he'd never be able to handle being in an _actual_ relationship with either of them—plus the whole “being gay” thing kinda put an end to any potential romantic feelings there. But still, being around them made him ache for someone of his own, for their nights out to be double-dates rather than Kendall always playing third wheel and feeling left out when the twosome entered their own little couple world of love and hearts and rainbows and what-the-fuck-ever. It would've been nice to have someone there with him at that moment, someone who he could share jokes with about the ridiculousness of visiting a fucking psychic and compete with over who could come up with the funniest, craziest story of where that skull had originally come from. He would've loved to have someone to talk to when they _eventually_ made it to the bar and got drinks and Mercedes and Lucy inevitably slipped into their own world and became _MercedesLucy_. MerLu? Lucedes? Mercy? Whatever, he didn't understand the whole couple smoosh-up name thing.

Point was, he just wanted someone of his own to cuddle up with whenever he was unintentionally ostracized from the conversation because his friends had gotten too wrapped up in each other to remember he was there. And it wasn't like he hadn't tried, but relationships never really lasted long for him, always ending for one reason or another.

Although if he was being totally honest with himself, they all ended because of one reason: none had felt _right_.

And he'd be damned if he could explain how or why.

A throat was cleared and he tore his gaze away from his friends, coming across the psychic— _Camille_ , he mentally reminded himself—still seated at her little round table. Her chocolate eyes were fixated on him, lips twisted to the side in thought and skewing her porcelain features. Kendall rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling a cold prickle, a strange discomfort at being analyzed so closely by a complete stranger. He flicked his eyes to his friends, severely tempted to just bolt, to head home on his own and text that they still owed him drinks at some point, make up a lie about not feeling well and deciding to take a rain check. Wasn't like they'd notice his escape, probably wouldn't even realize he was gone until they saw the text he'd send. Then again, they probably wouldn't even notice the buzz in their pockets alerting them to said text, would only find it when they drew out their cell to yell at him an hour or so later when they _finally_ realized he'd abandoned them.

Wouldn't be the first time.

“You,” the same voice from earlier called for his attention, this time lower and calmer, not as demanding. Camille pointed a slim finger at him so there was no arguing over who she was talking to, soon moving it so it was pointed at one of the ottomans across the table from her. “Sit.”

Kendall snorted, rolling his eyes. “Nope. No way,” he denied her request, shaking his head, hands now shoved in the pockets of his jeans, rattling his wallet chain.

She cocked an eyebrow dubiously at him, lips pursed in an “oh really?” manner, slender arms folding over a lithe frame. “Yes way,” she argued back, voice and tone both saccharine sweet. “Sit so I can prove you wrong.”

He didn't need to ask what exactly she was referring to, knowing that it was clearly his skepticism she was trying to lay to rest. Was pretty obvious in his body language and his attitude that he most definitely did not want to be there and that he found the entire thing to be a joke. Not to mention his verbal complaints over the bullshit of their evening plans when he and his friends were still out in the parlor waiting on her. He'd walked by the glowing neon sign in the window enough times to know the place had been there for quite a while, meaning she'd come across every form of disbeliever possible. And having been subjected to them all, the way they held themselves, the tells on their faces and bodies that spoke more than their mouths about how they felt over the whole thing, she'd most likely memorized all their behaviors and had learned to recognize it in others.

Like she was with Kendall.

It wasn't being a psychic; it was being a good body language expert.

“Kendall, I've already paid,” Mercedes pointed out, unamused, Lucy snuggled up against her. “Just fucking do it already.”

The lone male in the room sighed, eyes rolling again. He still couldn't believe someone would waste their hard-earned cash—or in Mercedes' case, her trust fund—on this bullshit. But since it wasn't his own money he was blowing on it, he really had nothing to lose—except a few moments of his time. Although knowing his friends, they weren't leaving until he relented and did what they said, which would also delay their trip to the bar and him getting a round or two on their dime. Besides, could be good for a laugh. He could tell stories at the shop the next day about how ridiculous it was, how clearly touched in the head Camille had been and the nonsense she'd told him.

But mostly he just didn't want to find himself at the losing end of one of his friend's weapons. Again. Because Mercedes' hand was slipping into her Coach purse and he really didn't want to find out whether she was sliding her Ruger out its holster or not.

With another eye roll for good measure, he tromped his way over, plopping down onto a burgundy ottoman with zero grace and a total huff, arms folded over his own chest to complete his petulant brat behavior. “Lemme guess,” he began sardonically, lips in a flat line, green eyes half-lidded in boredom and unamusement. “I'll meet a tall, dark, and handsome stranger.”

Camille's eyes twinkled, her own lips pulling into a wry grin. The candlelight danced over her pale skin, her slim hands sliding over the scarf-covered tabletop as she leaned forward. This close, Kendall could smell her sandalwood perfume and see that her face was free of make-up, not even any sort of balm on her lips. It was a refreshing change from the females he was usually around, ones who preferred heavy eyeliner—Lucy—or expensive high-end make-up—Mercedes—or even a little bit of shadow and Chapstick—Jo, the receptionist at the shop. Hell, even his younger sister Katie had been wearing lip balm since she was about eight or so.

“Not quite,” Camille commented, dragging him back to the moment and away from his mental tangent over her lack of facial coverings.

He cocked an eyebrow, wondering what exactly he'd said to her, then remembering his joking comment over the cliché remark one always got from a psychic.

“Compared to you, he's not tall,” she stated, folding her arms in front of her on the table. “Although compared to me, he is. But then again, most people are.” She smirked at him and he forced a huff of a laugh out his nose, forced the corner of his lips to turn up at what he assumed had been a joke of some form. “He's tan, but not quite dark, _extremely_ handsome, and only mostly a stranger.”

Okay, he had no clue what exactly kind of incense she'd been burning, but it clearly had been fucking with her head, because what she'd just told him made no sense.

Yet she'd said it with such conviction, like she knew for a fact that this guy existed and was somehow “only mostly” a stranger to Kendall.

Whatever the hell _that_ meant.

Resting his elbows on the table, he rubbed at his temples, eyes scrunched shut as he tried to decipher her words, only to come to a resounding “what?” that he blurted out in confusion.

“You've met him before,” Camille explained, still fully convinced that she was speaking the truth and that her word was law. “In your past lives.”

Again. What?

Dropping his hands onto the table with a thud, he sneered at her in confusion, brow drawn together, lips curled up. She truly was out of her mind. Because past lives weren't a thing. As much as Kendall would like to believe that this life wasn't it and that after his death there was something for him to move on to rather than a nice wooden box or a lovely metal urn, there just wasn't. One life, one shot, that was it. YOLO and all that shit.

“The name James mean anything to you?” Camille plowed on, head cocked to the side, sparkle in her eyes that had nothing to do with the candles. Her lips still held the faintest shadow of a grin, like she already knew the answer and was just waiting for him to admit she was right.

Which really just made him want to argue more.

Not that he felt like he could, not convincingly at least. Because the second that name had left her lips, Kendall's entire being had reacted. He'd sucked in a breath, holding it in his lungs, head rearing back in shock as his eyes widened. He felt his heart start pounding, stomach start flipping, skin start tingling, all those cliché reactions to the mention of a crush or a romantic partner.

Only he'd never met the guy.

In reality at least. Because dreams don't count. It was just a weird coincidence that she'd mentioned the name of Kendall's fantasy lover, that was all. No need to read into anything.

Her smirk grew as she winked at him. “I'll take that as a yes,” she commented, proud as a peacock, practically preening as she sat up straighter, slightly wiggling in her seat.

“Lucky guess,” he breathed out when his lungs finally figured out that that was their function, the whole air in, air out bit having been forgotten momentarily.

Camille rolled her eyes, but didn't seem deterred by his disbelief. “Oh please,” she snorted. “We both know it wasn't and that James is someone very special to you.”

A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed hard, an unsuccessful attempt at making it disappear. “I don't know anyone named James,” he argued, voice weak, like it didn't have the strength to fight its way up his throat and past his lips to someone else's ears.

“Not in real life,” she pointed out, shrugging a slender shoulder. “But how many dreams have you had about the guy over the years?”

Okay, _now_ he was getting freaked out. Yes, he'd been having dreams about the same brunet named James since he was about sixteen—coincidentally around the time he'd gotten his first tat and his hungover mind wondered if the ink had something magic in it to have given him the greatest dream ever about a handsome pirate captain who'd kidnapped and ravaged him on his ship—but he'd never told anyone about them. Hell, he hadn't even written them down during his six month phase of writing in a journal—that totally wasn't a diary, no matter how much Lucy had argued to the contrary.

So this woman, this _stranger_ bringing up said dreams and talking about them as though she knew the exact nature of them was more than a little weird.

It was downright eerie.

“Your silence says more than your words ever could,” Camille commented with a knowing look, eyebrow cocked, lips twisted to the side in a wry grin.

Kendall shoved a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp, swallowing the lump that seemed to have grown. “Still don't know any Jameses,” he argued just to argue, just so it didn't seem like he was starting to believe anything she was saying.

He wasn't entirely sure if he was trying to convince her of that fact or himself.

“But you wiii-iiill,” she singsonged, flicking brown ringlets behind her shoulder. “It's just a matter of time before you two meet again in this life.”

This time he pinched the bridge of his nose before flicking his hand out toward her. “Okay, again with the past life bullshit,” he pointed out, sneering as he shook his head.

Her eyebrows scrunched up, looking genuinely confused about his failure to buy what she was selling. It was like she thought it was the most obvious thing in the world, right up there with facts about the sky's color and water's dampness and how could he not just _get_ this?

“Well, yeah,” she replied with a small laugh, shoulders shaking slightly. “What did you think all those dreams were?”

“Fantasies created by my subconscious,” he answered flatly, wishing he had a dictionary so he could recite the exact definition of it in order to make _her_ understand the obvious.

Agree to disagree didn't seem likely in this scenario.

“Nope,” she retorted, popping the “p” with another smirk. “They're memories of all your past lives. Lives that you shared with your soul mate.”

“James,” he concluded flatly, barely able to hold back an eye roll or a snort or any other snarky physical responses.

“Exactly.” She nodded once, gravely, face completely serious.

Kendall thought she was completely insane.

This time, he didn't bother holding back the snort.

Camille's lips pursed, eyes narrowed as she analyzed him. “You don't believe in reincarnation, do you?”

“Nope,” he mimicked her earlier tone, right down to the popped “p”.

“Well,” she began, chocolate eyes locking onto his green ones, upper body leaning over the table, head tilted to the side in a way that kinda reminded Kendall of a curious dog. “Do you believe in a love so great and so powerful that it spans lifetimes? That two people can be such complete and total soul mates that they're constantly reborn just so they can be together?”

He shook his head, chuckling in disbelief. “Shit like that doesn't exist for me. For them?” He paused, pointing to his still-snuggled friends with his thumb. “Sure. But not for me. My longest relationship has been with a dildo Lucy got me five years ago as a birthday present.”

“You're welcome!” the mentioned friend called out and he turned to give her a thumbs up and a wink before focusing on the so-called psychic once more.

“Love and me? Relationships and me? They don't mix. And they sure as shit aren't powerful enough to the point where I keep being born over and over again so I can keep experiencing it.”

“And why do you think that all your relationships fail?” Camille questioned in a tone that reminded him of his mom mid-lecture when she sarcastically asked if his latest Lucy-induced shenanigan was a good idea. Took him a while to learn that he either shouldn't answer or say “no”. He figured in his current situation, the first option was the best.

“Why do you think,” the psychic continued in the same tone, “that every time you try to be with someone, it just doesn't feel right, like there's something missing and you just can't quite your finger on it, other than to say it's just a weird feeling you get?”

Kendall pressed his lips together in a hard line, ducking his head and turning it to the side, refusing to acknowledge what she was saying, refusing to admit that maybe she'd made a point.

“You're going through life with the feeling like something major is missing, like half of you is gone,” she stated and damn if she wasn't hitting the nail right on the head. “All your relationships failed because it was with the wrong person, because none of them were James. _Your_ James.”

He swallowed hard, that damn lump still there, his heart still skipping a beat at the mention of the other man's name. A slender hand slid over the top of his as it sat idly on the table, slim fingers wrapping around his and squeezing. Turning back to Camille, he caught sight of her sympathetic expression and her sad smile, noting how she'd leaned even further in as though they were sharing secrets.

“It's okay,” she whispered in a comforting manner. “You'll find him soon. You won't be the token single one or the third wheel for much longer.”

It was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him at her last sentence, reality setting in. And to think, he'd almost fallen for it, had almost actually believed her and the bullshit she was spouting at him.

Too damn close for comfort really.

Slipping his hand out from under her's, Kendall dropped it onto his lap, giving her a hard look through narrowed eyes. Man, did he feel stupid. And gullible. And, admittedly, a tiny bit embarrassed at how easily he'd begun to let himself believe her. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, jaw working in disbelief at himself, at Camille, at the entire fucking situation. “You almost had me,” he admitted. “But I'm sure you've had enough people come in here by themselves or with friends who are clearly a couple to know what key words and phrases to use to make yourself seem like you're actually telling them their future.”

Camille didn't seem offended or upset, simply leaning back in her wicker chair and folding her arms over her chest. Her eyes narrowed in challenge, lips twisting this way and that before settling on a smug smirk. “Your t-shirt is kind of ironic, considering what you dreamt last night, isn't it?”

Right, that was it, officially time to go.

He gave her one last hard look before rising to his feet and stomping off, boots clomping loudly on the hardwood floors. The beads were noisily shoved aside as he stormed his way out, not bothering to look back to make sure his friends were following.

Although they sure as hell better had been. They owed him more than one round after that bullshit he'd just been through.

Stepping outside, Kendall breathed in the chilly Minnesota air, holding it in his lungs before blowing it out slowly. This was reality, this was what was actually happening, not some crap about how his dreams were memories from past lives.

Still, he couldn't help the small glimmer of hope he felt inside his chest at the possibility of James being real and out there and _his_. His heart began to pound, stomach fluttering, skin tingling all over again at the chance of being able to find the literal man of his dreams and being with him, having him be his soul mate. A soul mate so perfect and a love so powerful they kept reliving it over and over again throughout the ages.

Kendall mentally snorted as he smeared a hand over his face. Yeah. He was definitely gonna need _several_ rounds of drinks.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Palm Woods was located a few blocks from the psychic's, only two blocks from Rocque Tattoos where Kendall and Lucy were employed, meaning it was a frequent post-work hang. The bar's moniker conjured up images of actual palm trees, of sunshine and beaches and Orange County housewives on spa days because spending their husband's money was stressful.

But in reality, the place was the stereotypical dive, with sticky tables and peanut shell covered floors, the bar covered in scratches and the vinyl on the chairs ripped and splitting. Pool balls cracked loudly over the jukebox pumping out eighties hair metal that was barely heard over a cacophony of conversations and laughter. Friends' names were yelled at obnoxious volumes when the door opened, new arrivals joining the already seated groups they were meeting, bartenders nodding heads in acknowledgment at frequent patrons.

The three of them were able to find a table near a corner far from others, having arrived during the lull between post-work happy hour and hard partying drunk-fests. Mercedes kept to her word, supplying the first round of shots and beers, calling a toast for Lucy and her birthday.

“Which was three days ago,” Kendall tacked on, shot glass in the air, ready to clink it against his friend's.

Mercedes rolled her brown eyes, entire head moving with the action as she huffed. “Birthday _week_ ,” she altered, wrapping it up by sticking her tongue out at Kendall.

He just rolled his eyes right back at her before the three of them clinked their glasses together and downed their shots. The drink wasn't quite enough to do anything, but it was a start.

“Now,” Lucy began louder than necessary, practically slamming her glass on the table. “On to our next order of business.”

Kendall cocked an eyebrow at her, suspicions raising once more. The excited wiggle Mercedes performed at her girlfriend's words didn't help anything, her devious dimpled grin making them worse.

Shit.

Then again, could anything really be worse than being dragged to a _psychic_?

Probably. And it would be _his_ friends who'd be the ones to figure it out.

Shit again.

Putting his beer bottle to his lips, he tipped it back and drank deep, bracing himself for the next part of the evening he'd be dreading.

He needed to get new friends.

“Our new mission in life is to find Kendall's James.”

What?

Kendall nearly choked as he tried to swallow, barely managing to not spit beer everywhere. Bottle back on the table, he coughed loudly, trying to regain a normal breathing pattern and steady himself after the shock of Lucy's declaration.

Because, what?

When he felt like a regular functioning human again, he turned his questioning gaze on her, lips parted in confusion. “Say what now?”

She shrugged like the whole thing was a “duh” matter, completely nonplussed. “We need to find James for you.”

He coughed out a laugh, looking to Mercedes for back up. But the blonde was zero help, nodding with pursed lips, clearly on her girlfriend's side.

Yeah. Seriously needed new friends. Dude friends. Straight dude friends who would invite him out for drinks and not trick him into visiting psychics or meddle in his love life.

But since that wasn't gonna happen in the next thirty seconds, he was stuck dealing with the friends he _did_ have and their latest insane plan that he wanted nothing to do with.

“No, we don't,” he argued flatly, giving Lucy a hard look.

“Yes, we do,” she mimicked his tone before turning in her seat to face him fully. Her face was hard, features set, and the last time he'd seen that look she'd been threatening him with a Japanese sword.

Shit.

“Kendall, you haven't had a real relationship in over a year,” she pointed out, making him wince internally. He opened his mouth to argue but was stopped by her holding up a hand. “That fling with that traveling arms dealer doesn't count because it was basically a week's worth of booty calls and your vibrator doesn't count.”

Dammit, she'd stolen his arguments before he could make them. Fucking typical.

Defeated, he slumped back in his chair, hand loosely wrapped around his beer bottle, condensation making his fingers damp.

“We can tell how unhappy you are being single.”

He snorted just to be argumentative, pride refusing to let him give in and agree. “I'm fine.”

“You're lying,” Lucy retorted, Mercedes nodding her agreement. “You can't honestly sit there and tell us that what Camille said didn't hit home for you, that you haven't been lonely and miserable and feeling like you've been missing something.”

He rolled his eyes, noting in the back of his mind how often he and his friends seemed to perform the action and what the hell did that say about their friendship? “She was insane,” he commented. “And you two are at least a little crazy if you even halfway believe the bullshit she said.”

The couple exchanged looks as Kendall drank, wordlessly having a conversation. He glanced around the bar, ignoring their silent discussion, taking in the neon advertisements for beers, the darts scores on the chalkboard at the back of the bar, the fliers for Thirsty Thursdays and Ladies' Nights. He didn't need to see yet another example of Lucy and Mercedes' couple-ness and be reminded of what he didn't have. He was loathe to admit that Camille had been right about him always being the third wheel and always being the token single friend. His little sister changing her FaceBook status to “in a relationship” earlier that day didn't help shit either.

“Well, _I_ believed her,” Mercedes snuffed, tossing blonde curls behind her shoulder with a whip of her head.

“So did I,” Lucy agreed. “Hard not to when everything she says is true and makes sense.”

Kendall glanced back and forth between them, hating their stony expressions and the fact that they were completely serious in what they were saying. “Please. She's been there long enough to learn how to phrase things to make it seem like she's predicting your future.”

“She's not that kind of psychic, Kendall,” Mercedes informed him, “duh” look on her face. “She tells about past lives, where you've been and what happened to you, not what's _about_ to happen.”

“Right,” he replied dubiously. “So she basically makes shit up and people eat it out the palm of her hand because they're so desperate to believe that they were once a Scottish lord or a princess or what-the-fuck-ever.”

“Is that what Camille meant by pointing out the irony of your shirt?” Lucy questioned, eyebrow cocked in challenge.

“Yes, Lucy, I was once a princess in a past life.”

The whack he received upside his head was totally worth it.

“You know what I meant.”

He opened his mouth to say something equally as sarcastic only to be cut off by the blonde half of the couple.

“And you have the dreams, too,” she reminded him, arms folded casually over the tabletop, hard look on her face. He hated that expression. It reminded him of her businessman father and the time he told Kendall all about the million bucks he dropped to hunt an actual human being and kill him. In excruciating detail.

Mercedes pressed on, commanding everyone's attention the way she always did just by appearing in a room with her sharp features and natural beauty, the air of confidence that wafted off her just like her Christian Dior perfume. “The ones about James?” she clarified in a questioning tone before continuing in a more absolute one. “Camille told us that when soul mates are so secure and their love is so powerful that they dream of one another and what it was like for them in their past lives before they actually meet.”

“Which is why you apparently keep envisioning James,” Lucy added.

“Exactly.” The blonde shrugged a shoulder. “I had the same thing happen to me before I meet Lucy. We were flapper girls in a 1920s speakeasy, a princess and one of her handmaidens during Medieval times, courtesans at the Moulin Rouge.” She flicked up a finger with each listed item before her girlfriend cut in.

“Basically in every life, we've had a secret love affair because we could never be together.”

Mercedes nodded. “It's only in _this_ life that we've been able to be out and open and not deal with any harsh consequences.”

“Other than a businessman dad who thinks his daughter is still going through a phase by being with a tattooed and pierced _girl_ ,” Lucy pointed out acidly, the tension in her jaw only dissipating when her girlfriend reached over and held her hand, giving in a squeeze. The two then exchanged smiles and Kendall had to turn away again.

He was minutes away from being ostracized and he just knew it.

“So,” Lucy began then stopped, waiting for him to turn back to her, pulling him back into the conversation. “With that, we've concluded that James _does_ exist and is, in fact, your soul mate and therefore we must find him.”

He smeared a hand over his face, muffling his groan. “No, we don't,” he huffed, dropping his hand. “Seriously, there is zero need to go on some crazy search for a guy who most likely is nothing more than a figment of my imagination.”

“He's real,” Mercedes stated in a tone that brokered no argument, one that had won her countless verbal fights with others and helped Lucy talk him into stupid shit.

Like visiting psychics.

And looking for Kendall's literal dream guy who may or may not exist outside his head.

Fucking hell.

“You guys aren't gonna let this go, are you?” he asked on a breath, already knowing the answer.

The simultaneous “no” was completely expected yet still made him wince.

“We're doing this for your own good,” the darker-haired female stated. “You're unhappy and lonely and dammit, Kendall, we are gonna fucking fix that.”

He sighed long and hard, knowing there was no talking them out of it. Once the two of them set their minds on something, it was happening. He figured it was due to Mercedes growing up with rich parents who gave her anything she wanted and Lucy being a younger sibling who'd had to learn pretty quickly how to fight to get her way, leftover habits of their upbringing. Just like Kendall and his inability to be rude to girls and make them unhappy by saying “no” to what they wanted, even if it meant doing shit he really, truly, very much did not want to do.

Thanks, Mom.

“Fine,” he breathed out. “But only if you buy the rest of the drinks tonight.”

Lucy snapped her head to Mercedes, eyebrow raised in expectation, silently telling the blonde that she was footing the bill. Mercedes scoffed, rolling her eyes before rising to her feet.

“Whatever,” she dismissed before smirking at her girlfriend. “But only because it's your birthday week.”

The reminder of such had Lucy immediately turning back to Kendall. “Another reason why you're agreeing to us finding James for you,” she stated, pointing a finger in warning at him.

He opened his mouth to argue, only to snap it shut with a click then sigh. “Can't wait 'til it's _my_ birthday so I can make you two do shit you don't wanna,” he muttered, glaring at his now empty beer bottle.

Mercedes leveled her trademark “bitch please” look on him while Lucy snorted in disbelief. Clearly his birthday wasn't gonna be the trump card to make others follow his orders like it was for the current pseudo-birthday girl.

The blonde headed off to the bar to order another round, sashaying her hips as she went, Lucy's eyes—and the eyes of several other patrons within the establishment—completely glued to her ass. Kendall's green orbs, on the other hand, were scanning the rest of the crowd, a small piece of him kinda hoping to actually find James among the faces. Maybe then he could win an argument.

Then again, finding James would make Lucy and Mercedes right. Seemed like he was never gonna win.


	2. Two

He dreamt of James again that night.

Which sort of shouldn't really be a surprise at that point. But he'd never had a dream featuring the guy two sleep cycles in a row. The earlier Medieval themed revery meant that he shouldn't have seen that tan skin or white teeth or brown-green eyes when he went to sleep after a few rounds with Lucy and Mercedes.

He blamed Camille and her bullshit. He wouldn't have been thinking about James at all if it hadn't been for her bringing him up. And since he was thinking about the guy, then he ended up dreaming about him. Ergo, Camille's fault.

His sister was clearly to blame for the scenario of his dream, mainly the fact that she'd forced him to watch _The Notebook_ when he'd visited her at college a week or so before. Only way to explain why he'd dreamt that he was in the 1940s, a boy from the wrong side of the track in love with the son of a rich family from old money who disapproved of their relationship for several reasons, not the least of which had to do with their gender.

He woke up feeling upset, sitting there wondering why, if it was due to the dream being over or because James wasn't real. Not that it mattered really. It was over, done with, James nowhere in sight. And since his life wasn't a fucking Nicholas Sparks book, he wasn't about to find the guy in real life.

The beginning of Kendall's work day was fairly simple, a couple walk-ins wanting some flash pieces done that took less than an hour each. Old school sparrow, a skull, a cute little butterfly that Lucy refused to do and the shop helper Carlos couldn't talk her into. Most of his afternoon was being taken up by a half-sleeve piece he was starting on a guy named Dak, who'd walked in with his boyfriend Logan.

Because he wasn't surrounded by enough couples, what with Carlos blabbering about yet another girl named Jennifer that he was dating and Jo beaming about her boyfriend Jett and Lucy bragging about her girlfriend Mercedes to a client she was inking. Couples, couples everywhere and he was still fucking single.

But whatever. He hid anything he might be feeling, remaining professional as he tattooed the outline, chatting with his client. They talked about how Dak and Logan had met their freshman year of college, both now in med school. They talked about how Kendall got into tattooing and how long he'd been doing it. They talked about how Logan almost didn't come, but Dak had reminded him that in a few years he'd be dealing with blood and needles and scalpels and that he needed to deal with his discomfort now before it cost someone his life. That had led to an exchange of goo-goo eyes the likes of which Kendall had never seen.

Luckily he was spared any envious feelings by the manager Kelly storming through the main part of the shop screaming her head off, the owner Gustavo yelling at her from his office doorway before they both parted with slammed doors.

“Wow,” Dak commented, squeezing his wide eyed boyfriend's hand. “That was, uh—”

“Must be Saturday,” Kendall stated, wiping away excess ink. “They always get into it on Saturdays, then Kelly takes Sunday off, and comes back on Monday refreshed and ready to deal with Gustavo's bullshit again.”

“So this is a regular thing?”

He dipped the needle in the inkwell before answering. “Pretty much.” His eyes scanned the stencil, reminding himself of the shapes of the tattoo and what part he was working on. “It's gotten to the point where we don't even listen to what they're yelling anymore or pay attention to any of it.” He shrugged in dismissal before resuming inking, managing to get a few lines done before Lucy plopped a backpack on the half-wall that separated his station from the next.

A backpack that rattled slightly.

Fucking hell, what now?

Removing his foot from the pedal, he turned his head to his right and stared at the black bag with a raised pierced eyebrow before switching his questioning gaze to his friend. “Okay, I'll bite,” he began, sitting back slightly on his rolling stool. “What the hell?”

She shrugged one shoulder like it was no big deal and she hadn't just dropped a bag of who the hell knew what in front of him with the obvious implication that its contents were meant for him. “It's your outfit for tonight,” she answered nonchalantly, tucking a loose chunk of hair that had fallen out her ponytail behind her heavily-pierced ear.

The eyebrow remained raised, his suspicions growing, an uneasiness causing his stomach to start churning. “Why'd you need to get me a whole new outfit? What's wrong with the clothes I already have?” And seriously, didn't they have that discussion yesterday about how all he wore to pretty much everything was jeans and band tees? Where exactly was she dragging him that he needed different clothes for?

Aw hell.

“Because the place we're going, they probably won't let you in wearing anything you have in your wardrobe.”

She needed to quit dissing his clothes, her and Mercedes both.

He snorted, body rocking with the motion. “Then I don't wanna go.”

“Well, too bad, you're going,” she declared, folding her arms on the short wall and leaning forward. “It's still my birthday week and my Chinese ring daggers just arrived. Don't make me use your ballsac to sharpen them.”

Both eyebrows raised this time, green orbs widening. After he wrapped up this tat, he needed to put an ad on Craig's List for new friends. Hell, maybe he could just hang out with Dak and Logan. They seemed pretty cool and not likely to threaten his genitals with sharp objects. Or shooting objects. Or any object at all really.

Kendall's face fell, brow drawn into a frown, lips turned down into a pout. “Why can't we just go to the Palm Woods like always,” he muttered petulantly, not seeing the point in going elsewhere. The Palm Woods had been their place for _years_ , since they'd gotten hired at Rocque Tattoos at seventeen and had gotten stellar fake IDs from a friend of Lucy's. Why change it now?

Old habits and all that shit.

Lucy tilted her head down, face full of “you can't be fucking serious?” “Because James clearly doesn't go there, otherwise you would've met the guy already,” she explained in a tone that meant the answer was completely obvious and he was a dumbass for not getting it. “You need to expand your search zone, spread your wings, look elsewhere, otherwise you'll never find the guy.”

Kendall let out a heavy sigh, shoulders heaving with the action. He knew Lucy meant well, that she only had the best intentions, but she seriously needed to let that shit go. James wasn't real, just like that winged purple elephant who loved Scrabble that Kendall dreamt about when he was six, or the talking liger who took him ice-fishing out a silent helicopter when he was thirteen, or the triceratops that tap-danced a musical number from _Mary Poppins_ with him last week and wow, did he have some fucked up dreams sometimes. But the point was that they were all figments of his—admittedly fucked up—imagination, just like James. He wasn't gonna meet a flying purple elephant or talking liger or tap-dancing triceratops, nor was he gonna meet James. And the sooner Lucy realized this, the better.

“Lu—” he began then paused, trying to figure out how exactly to get his thoughts across without sounding crazy or spill a bunch of personal info to the two strangers currently sitting in his station and most likely listening in on their convo.

Awkward.

“No,” she argued back anyway, holding her hand up to stop him from speaking further. “You're doing this. It's still my birthday week and you have no choice. And no, neither myself nor Mercedes will be letting this go, not until you find the guy.”

Of fucking course.

He turned to face forward, glaring at the tattoo he was working on, mind composing the Craig's List “ _New Friends Wanted_ ” ad. “Fine,” he grit out, knowing he didn't really have a choice. The “It's My Birthday” Card was still being used, not to mention threats of bodily harm and the single-minded determination of his buds. He was screwed really.

Glossed lips spread into a smile, Lucy grinning widely, nose crinkling with the expression. “That's what I thought. Be ready at nine. Merce and I will pick you up at your place. Wear. That.” Glaring, she pointed at the backpack in warning before smiling again and blowing him a kiss, the shift in moods so sudden he was slightly dazed. She and Mercedes really needed to stop picking up each others habits. Dealing with them one at a time was hard enough.

Giving her a mocking salute, he watched as she spun on a boot-covered heel and bounded away, smugness trailing after her like an extra layer of her scent.

He sighed again, shaking his head in defeat before focusing on the tattoo once more. Dipping the needle in the inkwell, he made sure the tube was filled before stepping on the pedal and putting needle to skin.

“Never a dull moment in this place, huh?” Dak commented with a smirk, dimple forming on a cheek, blue eyes sparkling in amusement.

Kendall snorted as he worked on a line. “Not just at work,” he clarified, eyes focused on his client's arm. “That girl's been my best friend since kindergarten.”

“Wow,” the med student summed up, his boyfriend's eyes wide in surprise. “Guess she's tryna set you up with someone?”

“Something like that,” he reluctantly muttered, really not wanting to talk about it. To anyone. Especially a stranger. But he needed to be nice and polite to ensure that his clients always returned to him to get more work done, not wanting to risk them deciding to go elsewhere because he was a prick. Kind of important when most of your income came from commissions and being paid by the piece. If it was a slow month for tattoos, then he didn't have the cash to pay his bills.

Hence him nearly getting kicked out his apartment.

That, plus the medical bills from his trip to the emergency room when Mercedes had convinced him that going on a mechanical bull while shitfaced was _totally_ safe and _totally_ a good idea.

Fear had the back of his neck prickling. Oh shit. What if that was where they were going to that night? What if the backpack contained chaps and flannel and that rattling had been spurs he'd have to put on over cowboy boots?

Just because he was gay and had seen _Brokeback Mountain_ didn't mean he wanted to act it out.

Although leave it to his friends to completely ignore his wishes and make him do it anyway.

He shook himself out of it when he realized Dak was talking, mind taking another second to figure out what exactly the guy had said.

“Who they setting you up with?”

That was a loaded fucking question.

And while he _really_ didn't wanna talk about it, he figured ranting to a person he might not see again—depending on whether the guy wanted another tat or not—was all right. After all, he had to get this shit out somehow. And who knew? Maybe his client would see things his way and would back him up on the sheer lunacy of the entire thing.

“She and her girlfriend dragged me to a psychic last night,” Kendall began, pausing to dip his needle again.

“Sounds like a pattern,” his client pointed out, causing the artist to snort.

“Yep. Anyway, this so-called psychic told me that these dreams I have about this dude I've never even met are actually memories of past lives and that the guy is my soul mate.” He wrapped it up with an eye roll, shaking his head in disbelief before going back to the tattoo.

Dak and Logan exchanged a long look before both turning back to the tattoo artist. “So. You don't believe in soul mates or past lives or any of that stuff?” his client asked dubiously, making Kendall wonder if the guy had been sniffing the same brand of insanity incense that Camille had lit up.

“Soul mates? Sure, I guess. Past lives? No fucking way.”

The couple exchanged a look again before Logan spoke up timidly, nervous smile on his face. “Dak and I had dreams about each before we met.”

“My favorite was the one where I was a 1950s greaser and Loge was a nerd,” Dak added with a dimpled smirk, eyes twinkling. More goo-goo eyes were exchanged and Kendall felt that now familiar pang of loneliness twinge within his chest.

The couple got lost in their own little world, conversation turning to the so-called past lives they'd shared. Kendall zoned them out in a well-practiced move he used when out with Lucy and Mercedes, putting all his concentration on the tattoo he was finishing up.

The entire piece took a couple hours, Dak pleased with the results and raving wildly about it. Kendall smiled, proud of his work, going through his usual tattoo-care spiel he gave to all clients before handing over a paper copy of what he'd just told him. With a twenty dollar tip and a thanks, Dak and Logan left the shop, arms around each other and goo-goo eyes locked together.

Kendall's station suddenly felt a million times lonelier, despite the shop still bustling. Lucy was working on a regular's back piece, Carlos was bouncing around and singing to the radio as he swept, Jo was talking to a couple clients who were sitting and waiting for their appointment to start, and Gustavo was bellowing into his phone so loud everyone could hear it through the closed door. And yet, as Kendall cleaned up his station, he felt his chest get tight and his heart pound in a sluggish beat.

His eyes came across the backpack still on the half-wall, Lucy's earlier words springing back to the forefront of his mind. Maybe she was right. Maybe he really _was_ unhappy and lonely and in need of a _real_ relationship that was about more than orgasms and a free meal. And maybe he _did_ need to expand his horizons and try some place new in order to find that person he'd have a true connection with and possibly even fall in love with.

He felt that tiny flicker of hope deep inside once again, a small piece of him actually wanting the psychic to be right and for James to exist and be out there, waiting on him. And if he was, Kendall just knew he'd do damn near anything to be with the guy.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The backpack contained leather pants, a mesh shirt, leather cuffs and collar, and big clomping boots.

What. The fuck.

He spent a good twenty minutes on the phone arguing with Lucy about her outfit choice, Mercedes chiming in that _she'd_ actually picked them out and he was welcome—because he'd been put on speakerphone, naturally. His blatant refusal to wear it was met with more threats and a mention of something called an Uli knife that was supposed to be so sharp, one didn't know they were cut until they saw the blood, and Lucy was just _dying_ to test it out.

He tried to switch tactics and declared he wasn't going to a fucking S&M club with his friends, it was just too weird. He got laughed at, the couple both stating that it wasn't that type of club and he still needed to fucking wear that outfit.

He didn't feel all that reassured, but figured he didn't have a choice since he was rather fond of his current record regarding the number of days it's been since Lucy had cut him with something.

She still argued that the welt on his back from her bamboo sword didn't count, but he maintained that if he bled from it, it fucking counted.

Knowing he didn't have a choice, Kendall at least put on the leather pants, the material tight and clinging to him, making it difficult to pull them on. He threw the shirt into a corner, refusing to have anything to do with it, opting for a plain black wifebeater he had stashed in a drawer. The cuffs and collar made him feel gayer than he ever had in his life and he gave them the same treatment as the shirt. He managed to find a black bandana and wrapped it around his wrist as a substitute.

Neither girl was happy with his variations on his outfit, but he flat out told them that they should be glad he's at least in the pants and boots and that if they didn't like it, he didn't have to go. They exchanged looks before sighing simultaneously and giving in, deciding it was a halfway decent compromise. Kendall let out a sigh of his own, his more relieved than anything, glad Lucy wasn't about to use her spiked ring on something delicate of his.

Again.

He double-checked the black plugs in his earlobes, fiddled with his eyebrow ring, made sure he had his wallet, keys, and phone before declaring himself ready to go, leaving his apartment with his friends to fuck knew where.

He just hoped he'd survive the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Fuck Knew Where” turned out to be a club named Kno'Where and Kendall was about ninety-nine percent sure that was a planet from _Guardians of the Galaxy_. Not that the place had much of a comic book clientele, judging from the endless sea of black and leather that comprised the line outside and the flowing mob of dancers in the building.

Lucy blended right in with her black and red hair and heavy eyeliner, her usual black leather pants now paired with a red tank covered in black lace. Mercedes played the part in her own black corset, putting what she called her best asset on display, black leather miniskirt and knee high stiletto boots completing her look. Kendall felt like he stood out like a sore thumb, despite his own outfit seeming to blend it with countless matching looks. But as he scanned the crowd upon first entering the club proper, he had the paranoid thought that everyone was staring at him and knew what a fraud he was, that he didn't usually dress like that, that he was actually looking forward to taking those damn pants off so his skin could actually _breathe_. They were already overheated and he could practically hear them cry out for help over the booming bass of whatever dubstep was playing through the house speakers.

Lucy gestured to a table in a far corner, Mercedes following it up by yelling that Kendall needed to get the first round. He wanted to argue that _she_ was the one with an AmEx the same color as the walls so why shouldn't she pay, only to decide it was better just to keep his mouth shut. Chances were she wouldn't even hear his reminder or would just pretend that she hadn't. Better just to play the cooperative li'l friend and behave and use that as a later argument for why he should be allowed to leave before their predetermined exit time.

The words “but I've done what you wanted all night, can I _please_ just go home?” coupled with big green puppy dog eyes and a few rounds in his friends' stomachs pretty much always worked in his favor.

Kendall made his way around to the bar, twisting this way and that to avoid running into people with far less courtesy than he as they walked in the opposite direction. He managed to find an empty slot to the side, settling in and leaning against the bar, set to wait for the attention of one of the two 'tenders. His thumb tapped a rhythm against the wood, halfway in sync with the music pulsing in his bones, eyes flitting about as he took the place in. Black walls, black stools, black bar, black shelves. Hell, even black lights hung over the dance area and he was glad he wasn't suffering from dandruff at the moment.

He gave a surreptitious glance at his armpits to make sure he didn't have any embarrassing stains from his deodorant, thankful his tank was all clean.

Returning his attention to the bar, he took in the bottles lining the shelves at the back, deciding what shots to buy and what drinks to get. Had they been at the Palm Woods—like he wanted—he would've just ordered their usual Heinekens and shots of Jose Cuervo and called it done. Here, Mercedes wanted some sorta fancy drink that actually had to be _mixed_ and Lucy would later order the most inappropriately named thing she could find just so she could yell obnoxiously loud about her desire for a screaming orgasm. She never liked the damn thing but she still cackled asking for it.

Kendall chewed on a thumbnail—that he refused to let Mercedes paint black because a line had to be drawn some-fucking-where and it was at make-up—before reaching a decision. Just in time, too, because one of the bartenders had made his way to the group on Kendall's left, making him next.

He found himself checking the guy out, eyes perusing a nice ass in jeans so tight they were clearly painted on—and he'd thought his own leather pants were constricting, holy hell—moving up to a slim waist and sculpted chest. He spent a long time visually appreciating a muscular arm, a hint of black and gray ink peeking out from under black t-shirt sleeves that were practically strangling the well-sculpted biceps and triceps. The guy was clearly built, and Kendall found himself fantasizing about having that defined frame pin him against something and fuck into him.

And he hadn't even seen the guy's face.

His eyes moved further up, taking in a sculpted jaw covered with well-tended scruff, thin but nice lips, slender nose, and...

Holy. Shit.

Holy shit.

Just. Yeah, holy shit seemed to cover it.

Kendall felt his heart skip a beat in his chest then start up at double time, pounding against the back of his ribcage in a beat much faster than the bass echoing throughout his body. He felt his stomach do that weird twisting-into-knots, filling-with-butterflies thing that it would do in his dreams, skin tingling all over in awareness and slight arousal. His cock twitched in interest within the confines of his boxer-briefs and he had to grip the edge of the bar to keep himself from jumping over it and tackling the man serving drinks.

Because that very man was James. _His_ James.

Holy shit, he was actually real.

And damn if he wasn't more gorgeous in real life.

Kendall stood there with his mouth gaping, mind alternating between shock and joy and arousal, watching the man he swore was a figment of his imagination. But his make believe friends in childhood had never been that attractive, nor had they actually interacted with other people who were _real_. And James was clearly real, handing drinks over, taking money and exchanging the bills for the customer's change, smiling when he was given some back as a tip. He was real and he was there and he was real and he was walking over to Kendall and he was real and he—

He was standing a foot or so in front of Kendall with raised eyebrows and parted lips, shock evident in wide eyes.

The blond knew how the guy felt.

James shook his head, seeming to snap himself out of it before taking the final step necessary to bring him up to the bar, to bring him within earshot. His lips pulled into a smile, perfectly white teeth displayed, ones that Kendall thought only ever existed in toothpaste ads.

Shouldn't surprise him that James, of all people, had a smile like, since Kendall didn't think he existed in reality either.

The bartender leaned forward, hands on the wood, bringing himself closer to the customer. Kendall could smell him, he was that close, recognizing the scent as Cuda manspray, remembering the free sample of it that he'd gotten in the mail and how he'd liked it but not on himself, which hadn't made sense at the time. Only now it did. Because on James, it was mouthwatering and Kendall had to curl his fingers into fists to stop them from grabbing onto his black tee and hauling him in closer for a better whiff.

Although he'd be damned if he could remembering the reasons why that was unacceptable behavior.

“What can I get ya?” James asked, voice managing to be audible over the music. Despite the cacophony of sounds mixing in with it, it still sounded just like it did in Kendall's dreams: not too deep, yet still masculine. A warmth flooded throughout him, arousal spiking at memories of that very voice creating groans, swearing out in ecstasy, bossing him around in bed, crying out his name as he came.

The blond cleared his throat, shuffled around as his cock chubbed up, trying to think decidedly unsexy things and failing. “Three tequila shots,” he requested. “Cuervo if you've got.”

The bartender nodded once, tongue darting out to lick his lips, Kendall's mind automatically supplying a million places on his own body that that tongue could go if it wanted. “I need some ID.”

Kendall pulled his license out his wallet, handing it over with a slightly shaky hand. He needed to get a grip, needed to calm the fuck down and have his heart pound at a normal pace. But his mind was screaming at him at what a huge deal this was, what a major moment. Because that was him, his James, his soul mate, the literal man of his dreams and the love of many, many lives.

Shit. Camille had been right.

Hell, even admitting the psychic was correct didn't put a damper on the moment, didn't affect him in any way. He was still a mix of excitement at having found James and fear of what that meant from here on out and did the other man feel the same way? Did he recognize Kendall at all? Was this a one-way street? Was he a twin and this wasn't actually his James? After all, the guy hadn't spoken his name, wasn't wearing a name tag. Just because he _looked_ like his James didn't mean he actually was.

And wouldn't that just suck?

James looked at the license in his hand, eyebrows raising, eyes widening, lips parting again. “Kendall?” he practically squeaked, head snapping up. “Your name is Kendall?”

The blond raised a pierced eyebrow before lowering it back down a second or two later. Maybe he wasn't a twin. Maybe this _was_ his James. Maybe the bartender _did_ recognize him, _did_ dream about him, _did_ know that the two of them had been together in past lives and were fated to be together in this one, too.

God, _please_ let him know that.

Kendall swallowed hard, nodding, lips pressed together in a hard line. “Yeah. I'm Kendall,” he replied, lips curving up at the corner in a nervous smile. “Why?” Dumb question probably, but he needed to know, needed to hear James say that he'd dreamt about him, too, and that he'd already known who he was but the confirmation was still throwing him through a loop and fucking with his head. He needed to hear that he wasn't alone in this situation and that it was just as surreal and weird and fucked up and awesome as Kendall found it to be.

James let out a nervous huff of a laugh, similar grin on his face as he slid the ID back across the counter. “No reason,” he muttered. “You just look like a Kendall, is all.”

Well, _that_ certainly killed the joy and ruined the excitement of the moment.

Disappointment was a heavy lead ball in his stomach, making it churn before he'd even had a drink. It got worse when James turned away to fulfill his order and Kendall wondered if he'd even be able to handle the shot. Or if he shouldn't just down all three as soon as he got them then order another round to bring back to the table.

It didn't take long for the shots to be poured then placed in front of him, fingers digging through his wallet for cash. Only to have a tan hand cover his pale one.

He looked up to find James staring at him imploringly, dark eyes pleading, lips working as he struggled to form words. “Sorry,” was what he finally came up with, huffing at himself. “That was lame. But I am sorry. I just.” He paused, huffed again, hung his head for a moment before meeting Kendall's eyes once more. “Seeing you here? Realizing that you _actually_ exist and aren't just some guy I keep randomly dreaming about? It's kinda throwing me off, ya know?”

Holy. Shit.

Phrase of the evening really. Holy shit. Because really, it pretty much just summed everything up and Kendall wasn't entirely sure he still had a brain after the number of times his mind had exploded over the past ten minutes or less, rendering him incapable of thinking of anything. Other than “holy shit”, of course.

He found himself nodding dumbly, a weak “I get it” leaving his lips before he licked them, snapping himself out of it. “I didn't think you were real either.”

A toothpaste ad smile formed on James' face, his entire visage lighting up from the inside out. The look took Kendall's breath away and he found himself staring like a moron, still not entirely sure the guy was actually really truly _real_.

The other bartender yelled for James' attention, he waving back and yelling that he'd be right there. “I gotta go, but I'll see you around. Right?” The final add-on was spoken in such a pathetic voice that even if Kendall wanted to stay away—yeah fucking right, he wasn't as dumb as the stereotypes surrounding his hair color stated—he wouldn't. So he nodded, finding himself blinded by another bright smile. “Shots are on the house.” With a final wink, James turned and walked around, leaving Kendall standing there stunned.

Fucking. Hell.

Wait, no, it was “holy shit” that was the phrase of the night.

Either way though...

He moved on automatic, hands gripping the shots carefully, legs on autopilot as they carried him over to where Mercedes and Lucy sat waiting. He barely remembered putting the glasses on the tall round table or lifting one up to his mouth, only aware of the burn sliding down his throat before he finally snapped out of it.

And discovered he was being stared at with matching expressions of “what the fuck?”

Glass back on the table, Kendall shoved a hand through his hair then plopped down on a tall chair, sighing before he finally spoke. “You guys can give up your search for James.”

Mercedes scoffed—at least he was sure she did, since he couldn't hear it, but her body rocked like she'd made that noise—and Lucy rolled her eyes like she did whenever he came up with an idea that she deemed “ridiculously retarded”.

“Now why the hell would we do something like that?” she questioned, lips twisting as she folded her arms over the table and cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Because I just found him.”

“How?” Mercedes snorted, leaning over the table to get closer as she sat across from him. “The only person you even interacted with in this place was—”

Both females seemed to get it at the exact same second, both heads snapping to the bar Kendall had just left. Mercedes leaned back in her seat, arms folded over her torso and pushing her chest up even more than her corset already was, lips twisted in a playful smirk. Lucy wore a wide grin, teeth showing, a devious sort of laugh leaving her.

“Oh, we are gonna be ordering a _shit_ ton of drinks tonight,” she declared before clinking her shot glass against her girlfriend's. Kendall watched them knock the drinks back, somehow not surprised at her declaration in the slightest.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Mercedes ended up getting the next round of shots, purposely standing by James' end of the bar. She came back with a pout on her face, declaring she didn't like him because he was prettier than her and no one like that should exist. Lucy had soothed her with a shitload of cheesy compliments and ass-kisses that Kendall paid no attention to, downing his shot and surreptitiously staring at James out the corner of his eye.

Lucy got the first set of beers, too curious not to go check him out for herself. She shrugged off his good looks, saying he was attractive, but not her type, winking at Mercedes as she said it. The two girls then went off to dance, Kendall waving off their invitation for a three-way grind-fest. For once, he didn't mind being left out as the couple did their own thing. Instead, he sat there in his seat, torn between nursing his beer so he wouldn't be _too_ drunk and make an ass of himself and wanting to chug it so he could go to the bar for another sooner.

In the end, he decided to make it last, nerves messing with his mind. Admiring James from afar seemed like a much better option, his self-consciousness making itself known and making him worry that he'd embarrass himself in front of the guy or say something to ruin their chances.

Although really, was that even possible? After all, they were _soul mates_ , had managed to make it work in countless past lives. Shouldn't they be able to do the same in this one?

He wasn't willing to risk it. Yes, in theory, he was sick of being alone and single and the third wheel. Really, he should be stoked at the chance to change all that, beyond ecstatic that he'd found his dream man, and he was. But there was still that small part of him that was terrified of what all that meant, at how his life was gonna change from here on out. And it wasn't like they'd immediately slip into a comfortable place and be like Mercedes and Lucy. The two of them had been together for five years now. He and James still had to get to know each other, learn about one another. And he was terrified of James finding something about him that he didn't like.

Soul mates didn't mean it would automatically work out and things would be perfect.

So he kept his distance, relieved when Mercedes and Lucy returned some time later with three waters, taking a breather from dancing.

Although he wasn't entirely sure how much actual dancing had taken place, given the flushed cheeks, Lucy's mussed up hair, and Mercedes' smeared lipstick.

Not telling at all.

Kendall cocked an eyebrow but said nothing, swigging the remnants of his beer before dragging his water closer. None of them said a word, the two girls quenching their thirsts, Lucy rocking back and forth to the music still pumping through the speakers. It was a long moment before their relative silence was broken by Mercedes, tone as princess and demanding as always.

“Are you gonna eye-fuck the bartender all night or actually talk to the guy and get in his pants for real?”

Subtlety, thy name is Mercedes Griffin.

Lucy snorted, smirking around her bottle as she held it by her lips, staring at Kendall in anticipation of his answer.

Only he didn't have one. Other than a lame “I'm not eye-fucking him.”

“You are _such_ a shit liar,” the blonde insisted, shaking her head in disappointment before turning to her girlfriend. “Thought you taught him better than that.”

“Kendall has morals,” Lucy said disgusted, sneering and scrunching her nose up like she was smelling something particularly gross. Which wouldn't be much of a surprise considering the number of sweaty bodies writhing only a few feet away.

Another reason why the Palm Woods was better.

Although the Palm Woods didn't have James...

Shit. He'd just realized Lucy was right, too. Goddammit.

Mercedes scoffed, wrinkling her nose and turning to the lone male at the table. “Go talk to him.”

He leveled a flat look at her, refusing to give in to her demands and bow to her every whim like everyone else in her life seemed to do. Himself included, most of the time. But not at that moment. “No.”

Lucy cuffed him upside the head. “Fidiot,” she muttered. “He's the man of your dreams. Literally. Go. Talk. To. Him.”

Kendall looked back and forth between his two friends, wondering if he could get wifi on his phone in here and post that Craig's List ad already. But he knew deep down he'd never do it. Despite being dragged places he didn't wanna go and being forced into activities he didn't wanna do, he loved those two crazy chicks. He loved their weapons and threats and brash way of speaking. He loved their love for each other and the way they seemed to move around one another almost in sync without even realizing it, their matching expressions and similar patterns of behavior. He loved the fact that they loved him back and that they always included him in their fun. He loved that they were only looking out for him and his best interests and that they wanted him to be happy, even if they had to force him to do it.

Like that night.

“Just get his number,” Mercedes suggested, tone softer than before, still with that hint of brattiness to it. “You can call him tomorrow and ask him out for drinks or something?”

He cocked an eyebrow at that, lips tugging up in a smirk. “You want me to take a bartender out for drinks?” he asked, just to be a little shit.

She smacked him on the arm with the back of her hand, silver ring on her finger doing more damage than the actual hit. “Don't be a dick,” she grumbled. “Just go get his number or I'll—”

“All right!” he interrupted, sliding off the stool onto his feet. “I'll get it. If for no other reason than because it's been two hours since I was last threatened by either one of you and I wanna keep that streak going.”

Both girls rolled their eyes, knowing he was totally bullshitting them with his piss-poor excuse yet willing to indulge him.

Taking a deep breath, he smoothed his tank down before heading to the bar, narrowly avoiding other patrons. His eyes sought out James, finding him pouring drinks out a shaker into martini glasses to a bunch of young women, smile on his face. Kendall felt a smug sense of satisfaction that the grin wasn't as big as the ones he'd given the blond, that he'd managed to coax a brighter expression out the bartender just by being there.

He finally reached the bar, standing in his earlier spot, James doing a double-take as he checked out the new arrival, smile growing when he saw it was Kendall. And damn if Kendall didn't smile back just as big.

James handled a few other customers, the group around the bar thinning, before finally making his way to Kendall. His hips slightly swayed as he sauntered over and in all that black, he looked like a panther stalking its prey. The blond felt his cock twitch again, mouth going dry at the thought of being the one in his sights, at being the one that the other man wanted to ravage in an animalistic way.

Shit they needed to be alone.

No. First things first. He needed the guy's number. Not that Kendall had anything against one night stands. Hell, for the past couple years, that's all he'd had, one night stands and booty calls. But he wanted more than that from James, despite having just met him. He figured it was the whole soul mate/past life thing, but no matter the case, he wanted to have more than just one night with the guy, wanted him to be more than just a number he dialed or texted whenever he was horny and alone and not in the mood to trawl a bar and actually try to find a hook-up. No, he wanted an actual _relationship_ with this guy. He wanted all night and into the next morning, cooking breakfast together before spending the day cuddling on the couch binge-watching some TV show or another. He wanted date nights and anniversaries and surprise gifts or dinners. He wanted finishing each other's sentences and being able to perfectly convey their thoughts with just a look. He wanted what Mercedes and Lucy had. And then some.

James leaned forward on the bar once again, grin plastered on his face, lips spread as wide as they could go. Kendall wanted to feel them on his skin, wanted trails of kisses and licks and beard-burn all over him as he went down, returning the favor after he'd come screaming the guy's name.

Later, he reminded himself. Hopefully not _too_ much later, but later.

Clearing his throat, he licked his lips and shored up his courage, picking his words carefully before they left his mouth. “Think I could maybe get your number?” he asked, proud at himself for keeping his voice steady and not showing any of the nerves he was still feeling. “Only makes sense to be able to call the guy you drea—”

“I get off in an hour,” James interrupted, eyes growing dark with a heavier meaning.

Kendall's cock jumped at his words and the insinuation behind it, mouth moving before he was aware of having sent the order to. “And what time does your shift end?”

The brunet chuckled, smiling wide again. “Hang out 'til then?” he suggested, making it a question so Kendall didn't feel obligated either way. “Then maybe we can head over to my place and. _Talk_.” He put emphasis on the word yet his eyebrows wagged in a way that was interpreted as him meaning something other than exchanging words.

Kendall nodded dumbly, dropping down onto a stool and settling in. “Mind getting me a beer while I hang out?”

“Sure thing.” One wink and ten seconds later, his second Heineken was sitting in front of him, James stepping over to help another customer.

He turned his head to his friends, seeing their questioning looks even at that distance, Lucy's hands out in a “what the hell?” manner. With a grin, he gave them a thumbs up, nodding his head towards James. Mercedes threw her arms up in victory, Lucy fist-pumped, then the twosome high-fived. Kendall just shook his head and turned his head and attention back to the bar, hiding his grin behind his beer bottle. His friends were the strangest, most annoying people he'd ever met. But without them, he also wouldn't have met James, and he was glad he now had all three of them in this life.

He just hoped his past self was as lucky as he was and had them, too.


	3. Three

Kendall spent the next hour sitting at the bar slowly nursing his beer. He didn't wanna be drunk when he headed to James' place to chat. And if things should happen to progress past just talking, well, he didn't wanna be drunk for that either.

James was able to talk to Kendall between serving customers, small tidbits of info in an effort to get to know each other. He learned the brunet had moved to Newtown from Minneapolis a few years back, following his best friend Logan, who was now dating a guy named Dak—because apparently their town was smaller than Kendall originally thought. He learned that James was into tattoos and had a couple of his own, including a diamond on the inside of his wrist for his surname. He learned that James was also into guys with their own ink and piercings, winking and licking his lips in a way that caused Kendall to blush and thank whoever had decided to make the club so dark.

Kendall told him about his mom and younger sister, told him about his dad's death when he was a toddler and to not dare say he was sorry because he was too young for it to really affect him all that much. They talked tattoos and how Kendall had gotten started, which then led to a discussion on Lucy's habit of dragging him into schemes. James asked if any of them ever had a good result and Kendall had admitted than two had: his introduction to tattoos and being threatened into going to Kno'Where that night. The smile on James' face at that was big and bright enough that even a blind man could've seen it.

Finally the bartender's shift was over and he disappeared into the back for a couple minutes to clock out. Lucy and Mercedes had already headed home, having said their goodbyes with long distance waves. He was a hundred percent sure he'd been getting countless demanding texts to give them all the details and grilled incessantly the next day at work, gossip a guilty pleasure that both girls would deny having right before launching into another interrogation for more info.

James reappeared with a leather jacket in his hands, leading Kendall out the club and to a parking lot in the back, stopping at a Camaro and unlocking it. The blond took the hint and got in, whistling at the expensive interior and sinking into the butter-soft leather seats.

“Nice ride,” he commented, fingers gliding over the gadget-heavy dash.

The brunet shrugged, playing it off. “Gift from my dad,” he muttered, tone making it seem like there was more to it than that but he didn't wanna say.

Kendall didn't press, figuring they had plenty time to get to the point where James would be more comfortable with spilling more intimate details of his life. Instead, he busied himself by going through the other man's music library, impressed with his taste and feeling glad they had that in common. Nothing worse than dating someone who wasn't into the same music as you.

He'd know all about that. Unfortunately.

Conversation soon flowed, talk of concerts they'd attended and ones they still had yet to see. James confessed to wanting to be a singer and having written a few songs himself, Kendall needling him until he gave in and agreed to let the blond hear him play. Kendall evened the field out by talking about his childhood dreams of being a hockey player, but had pushed it aside after discovering a love for tattooing while recovering from surgery after a gnarly knee injury. The brunet said he used to play when he was a kid, too, but his mom had put the kibosh on that, too afraid he'd get hurt and scarred. It was told with an eye roll and a narrowed gaze, leading Kendall to assume that James didn't really get along with either parent.

They arrived at James' place after about a twenty minute drive, a tall apartment building in the nicer part of downtown. Kendall recognized it as one of those swanky places usually associated with business owners and corporate presidents, people high up on the company's ladder in both payroll and power. He wondered how a bartender could afford to live in such a place, eyebrow cocking at the security guard behind the desk and feeling a tiny bit weird at actually having to sign in, despite walking in with the resident he was visiting.

James hit a button for the tenth floor—out of twelve, of course—and he gave the brunet a questioning look. He shrugged a shoulder and played it off like he had his car, simply stating “trust fund” in a flat voice.

Kendall thought he was nuts for brushing the whole thing off when he finally entered the apartment itself, taking it dark hardwood floors and white walls, noting an iron staircase leading up to a landing that stretch along the back wall, double-doors peeking over the safety wall. The place was open concept, kitchen to the left with an island that featured a breakfast bar, appliances all stainless steel and high end. The left was the den area, white L-shaped couch with matching love seat, giant flatscreen TV above a gas fireplace, inset entertainment unit to the side with a glass door displaying all the gadgets James had.

The blond found himself whistling again as he wandered about, taking in the high ceiling and the touches of chrome here and there. His entire apartment would fit in the living area alone and he wondered how the hell he was supposed to compete with a guy who seemed to have everything.

James locked the door up, putting the security bar over and typing into an alarm keypad of some form. His jacket was tossed onto the back of a couch and Kendall noted a lack of dust flying up from it, unlike his own couch bed. He absently wondered if James cleaned the place himself or if he hired someone to do it then found himself to be absolutely ridiculous for thinking of such stupid shit. It didn't matter that the guy was in some high end apartment, didn't matter that he had a fancy sports car, didn't matter that he had a trust fund. He was still James, _his_ James. He'd wanna be with him if he had nothing but a cardboard sign declaring he was willing to work for food.

Turning to the brunet, he found those brown-green eyes locked on him, a myriad of emotions swirling in the endless sea of different colors. He wondered what the other man was thinking if he was questioning his choice in bringing Kendall back here and whether it wouldn't have been better if they'd waited. If he wanted to take things slow and go on a few dates before they do anything. If he wanted to just _talk_ like he said at the bar and was hoping Kendall hadn't gotten the wrong impression.

Licking his lips, James made a few faces as he thought things over, contemplated his options, before sighing out a “fuck it”. “I wanna be with you,” he confessed.

Kendall snorted out a laugh, body rocking with the action. “Well, yeah, otherwise you wouldn't have brought me here.”

“No, I mean.” He paused, huffing, foot tapping in impatience at he tried to figure out how to word things. “I wanna fuck you. But not in a one night stand kinda way. 'Cause I'm pretty sure we're meant for more than that, that we're meant for forever, but I am just _dying_ to be in you and see if it's as good as those dreams.”

“Holy shit,” the blond breathed out his new motto. Or was it his new mantra? Both? Whatever, didn't matter. What mattered was that James was on the same wavelength as him, wanted the same things as him. And didn't that just make him, make _them_ all the more perfect?

His mind was inundated with countless images, flashes of dreams—memories?—of them together, of tangled tongues and legs, of hard cocks and thrusts, of breathy moans and names. He thought of how those hands felt on him, sometimes with rough skin, sometimes it was soft, always careful and caring. He thought of that tan skin spread across his pale flesh, those white teeth sinking into various weak spots over his body, that muscular frame pressing into him, onto him, behind him, those eyes staring into his with awe and joy and wonder and ecstasy and love. He thought of himself filling and being filled, sucking and being sucked, licking and being licked. He thought of all the guys in his past who he'd done those very things with and how they'd paled in comparison to the dream he'd had the night before that had left him aching and alone and more than a little turned on.

He briefly worried that James wouldn't live up to the dreams either, only to push that aside. The universe wasn't that big an asshole to where it'd give Kendall a soul mate that was shit in bed.

Right?

Whatever. He deserved a good lay after all the mediocre to pretty alright ones he'd been through.

James swallowed hard, hand scratching his whisker covered jaw, the rasp of it and the AC unit kicking on seeming to be the only sounds in the room. Because tension didn't make a noise, not really, but was still a palpable thing at that moment. It was the fire heating up his insides, the electricity tingling his skin, the blockage stopping his lungs from getting any air. It was the anticipation and the want and the _need_ , the way he felt so worked up already and they hadn't even touched.

Kendall licked his lips, knowing that a move had to be made at some point by some person, and he wasn't about to play chicken with this shit. With determined strides, he made his way over, grabbing James' face and crashing their lips together right as their bodies collided.

It was a terrible move—at first anyway—teeth clacking together and smashing their lips, sounds of pain muffled between their pressed mouths. But then Kendall moved back a fraction of an inch and it was like everything had been turned up and dialed down all at once. Their lips moved together, kissing once, twice, remaining joined. He felt whiskers scratch at his chin, at his palms, felt hands softly land on his hips, thumb rubbing along the bone through his tank.

Harsh exhales puffed out through their noses, fingers scratched through whiskers before sliding into brown hair. Kendall cupped the back of James' head, feeling silky strands tickling between the webs of his fingers, his other arm draped around broad shoulders. It was perfect, James maybe only an inch or two taller, their similar heights making it easier to kiss and keep kissing, to press their bodies closer and feel a muscular chest against his flat one, ridged abdomen against his admittedly slightly pudgy one, a half-hard cock against his own.

Shit. James was getting hard. Oh god, Kendall was making him hard and it was the greatest thing he'd ever felt in his entire life.

That thought was immediately scratched from his head as James slid his arms around his waist, one hand drifting down to cup his ass and pull him impossibly closing, hips grinding together. _That_ was the greatest thing he'd ever felt in his life.

And they still had clothes on.

Which really...

Kendall pulled away, panting slightly, eyes only able to open halfway. “I don't normally wear them.”

James looked dazed yet beautiful, lips kiss swollen, eyes half-lidded, tan cheeks slightly reddening. “What?” he breathed out, brow furrowed in confusion.

“The pants,” he clarified, feeling a strange urge to let it be known that despite being gay, leather wasn't really his thing. “I don't normally wear leather pants.”

“Oh,” was the brunet's flat response, a shoulder shrugging under the leaner male's arm. “Too bad. I mean, that's okay, whatever you wanna wear or don't wanna wear is cool. Just. I kinda like 'em on you.”

“I can totally wear the pants again,” Kendall stated in a rush before bringing their lips back together in a kiss more frenzied than the last.

Tongues were soon added to the mix, hands roaming, grabbing, groping. His ass was squeezed, hair tugged on, tank slipped up at the back. He felt pebbled nipples, ridged abdominals, pulled a tee out of jeans.

James pulled away to yank his shirt over his head, breathing hard as Kendall looked his fill. Jesus fuck, the man was ripped, looked like the cover model on one of those muscle magazines he used to see back when he worked at Sherwood's Grocery. He thought of that movie _Crazy, Stupid, Love_ that Mercedes and Lucy had made him watch and Emma Stones declaration of “It's like you're photoshopped or something” and he fought back the urge to yell the same thing.

Because seriously, it was like he was photoshopped or something.

Not. Fucking. Fair.

But at the same time, totally fair and awesome because he was all Kendall's and Kendall had free reign to do whatever.

Which he didn't hesitate to do.

Ducking his head, he dragged his teeth over his collarbone, ran his tongue over a nipple, delighting in the sharp inhale of breath it pulled from James. So much so, that he he did it again and again, only to feel bad about neglecting the other and remedied it by sucking it into his mouth.

A swear left the other man on a breath, fingers of one hand carding through dirty blond locks. Not pushing, not directing, simply laying there, as though needing another connection, as though he needed something to ground him and remind him that this really _was_ reality and that this really _was_ happening.

Kendall knew the feeling.

Sinking further, he ran his tongue along every line on his stomach, his sides, dipping into his belly button and nipping at it. He sucked on a hip bone, licked his way along the top of his jeans, bit the other side. His bottom lip dragged up along his happy trail, fingers skimming along his leather belt before reaching the buckle, undoing it with shaky fingers.

Only to have a tan hand cover his pale ones.

“Not here,” James decided, voice rough, chest pumping in shaky motions.

Kendall just nodded, rising up to his feet. James slipped his hand into Kendall's, tugging it as a sign to follow. Not that it was necessary. Kendall would've followed the guy anywhere.

James led him upstairs, opening one of the two double-doors to reveal the master suite and flipping the lights on. Kendall didn't bother taking inventory, eyes seeking out the bed and finding it propped right up against the back wall. The rectangular frame was the same dark wood as the floors, linens white, a million pillows perfectly arranged on the neatly made covers and making it look like one of those display beds at a department store.

Yeah, that needed to be fixed. Now.

He dropped James' hand before walking over, shoving throw pillows and euro pillows and what-the-fuck-ever other pillows, leaving the two standard ones for their heads. Kicking off his shoes, he flopped back on the bed, letting out a satisfied groan as he felt himself sink into its softness.

“What is your mattress made of? Clouds?”

James snorted, slipping his own boots off. “Cotton candy.”

The blond let out a happy “mmm” as his arms wagged up and down along the soft comforter, making the wings of a blanket angel. James probably had those fancy sheets with the high thread counts, Egyptian cotton, down-filled pillows. Kendall found himself wishing he could shove it all in his pockets and just steal it. He'd settle for just moving in.

Not that it'd be a hardship, considering who he'd be moving in with.

James knelt on the bed, bracketing Kendall's hips with his knees. “Memory foam,” he answered honestly, staring down at the blond.

He licked his lips, bucking his hips up. “Then let's give it something good to remember, huh?” he suggested, wagging his eyebrows.

The brunet chuckled, bending over slightly and rubbing his hands up and down the leaner male's arms. “Nice ink, by the way.”

He smiled proudly, his own eyes roaming the bare skin of the man before him, the ink that stood out against his tan flesh. His left arm had a tribal band wrapped around his bicep, beveled star cupping his elbow. The right arm featured a black and gray piece making up a half-sleeve piece, the flashes of ink Kendall had gotten sight of at the club. Only now he could actually make out that it was a knight on a rearing horse, sword in the air.

He found himself staring at it, at the details. The thing was incredible, every last detail done to perfection, from the individual strands of the horse's mane to the chain-mail of the knight's arm. It was incredibly done, one of the best realism pieces he'd ever seen, and James must've paid a pretty fucking penny for it.

“You, too,” he breathed out, reaching up to touch the piece, almost surprised when he felt human skin rather than horse hair when he stroked the animal's neck.

James smiled, tugging Kendall's tank up and off him, the blond laying back down on the bed. Brown-green eyes roamed his lean frame, taking in their fill they way his own had done to James. He had enough of a buzz going that he wasn't self-conscious, that he didn't feel inadequate when compared to the muscular hunk currently straddling his hips.

“God, you're beautiful,” the brunet breathed out before leaning down once more.

Their lips reconnected, tongues tangling almost immediately, hands exploring all over again. James dropped his hips, grinding down against Kendall's, surging and rolling in well-practiced motions that had Kendall bucking up against him. His cock was fully hard, an aching, throbbing presence under his boxer-briefs and he practically mewled against the other man's lips.

His hands slid around from a well-toned back to the front of James' jeans. The belt buckle was still hanging halfway undone and he finished the task, setting to work on the buttons on his fly. Because he wore those stupid jeans with five hundred buttons and, yeah, accidentally catching yourself on your zipper probably hurt like a bitch, but that rarely happened and only if someone went commando—

Which James did, considering the hard length that immediately popped out and into Kendall's hand.

The sound he made had no name. A groaned out moaning mewl type of breath that left his mouth and was swallowed by James', his back arching and pressing his skin against the other man's.

His fingers immediately wrapped around James' shaft, fingers exploring. He was wider than Kendall, a quick stroke telling him that they were probably about the same length, and _god_ , did Kendall want it inside him. James groaned above him, hand punching into the mattress beside the blond's head, the action way hotter than it should've been.

He continued stroking the length, thumb rubbing over the slit and smearing the precome that had already started to leak out. Pulling his lips from the other man's, he brought his hand up to his mouth, sucking the sticky liquid off his thumb and groaning.

“Wanna taste more,” he grumbled, pushing at James' shoulders to get him to roll over.

The brunet took the hint, moving so he was laying on his back, Kendall settling between his spread legs. He shucked the other man's jeans, pulled his socks off with them and tossed them away uncaring. His hands then slid up sculpted calves, thick thighs, bracketing his groin before fingers wrapped around the base of his dick.

James' breathing was erratic, chest pumping up and down with shaky motions. He propped himself up on his elbows, staring down at the other man with blown pupils. His tongue darted out to lick his lips and his head nodded, all the permission Kendall needed.

Ducking his own head down, he flicked his tongue in the slit, taking more of the salty precome into his mouth before licking around the head. There'd be another time for teasing, for exploring, he knew that, which allowed him to be okay with cutting the shit and just going for it. He wrapped his lips around the head and sucked hard, relishing the groan that left the man beneath him.

“Fuck,” James gasped out, head falling back momentarily.

Kendall smirked as much as he could, taking more into his mouth, tongue lapping at the underside. His free hand cupped his balls, fingers rubbing at the sensitive skin just behind it. Whimpers hit his ears, spurring him on, until he felt the tip of James' cock tapping at the back of his throat. Relaxing it, he swallowed more down until his nose was buried in trimmed pubic hair.

“Oh shit!” the brunet cried out, elbows sliding out from under him and causing his upper body to fall onto the bed. “Oh god, Kendall, your _mouth_.”

He felt his own cock twitch at the sounds the other man was making, throbbing insistently at his boxer-briefs, the leather pants trapping it in place. He pressed his groin onto the bed, trying to gain enough friction to sate the hard length as he worked on James'.

His head bobbed up and down, sucking the head, repeatedly pulling off it with an obscene pop that had the brunet gasping each time. He licked the length all over, sucked on his balls, nipped at the sensitive skin where thigh met groin, slid the dick back into his mouth and deepthroated him all over again.

“Fuck, Kendall,” James whined. “Wanna taste you, too.”

Kendall pulled off with another pop, moving up onto his knees. James immediately sat up with him, the two getting their hands tangled as both of them worked on undoing his pants. A thin layer of sweat was all over the blond's body, making it more difficult to slide the leather down and off, but through some small miracle, they were gone, boxer-briefs, too, leaving them both naked.

Large hands gripped his hips, yanking him up James' body until his knees were straddling either side of his head. The brunet pulled him down as he lifted his head, tonguing at his balls and lapping at his cock. Kendall breathed out a swear, hand shooting out and laying flat against the wall to steady himself.

“Wait,” he requested breathily. “Just wait.”

The other man did as he asked, pulling back. With some careful maneuvering, Kendall turned himself around and leaned forward, looking down between their bodies with a raised pierced eyebrow, silently asking if James got the hint.

Judging by the lips that immediately wrapped around his cock, the answer was yes.

He returned the favor, sucking the brunet's dick into his own mouth, moaning around the length as he felt a tongue flick at the sensitive head of his own. James' hips began bucking, thrusting his cock into his mouth and Kendall relaxed his mouth and throat, letting his face be fucked. His fingers tangled in the comforter, his legs getting shaky as he felt his dick being sucked hard, making him cry out around the length in his mouth.

James pulled off, groaning loud, murmuring praise as his hands rubbed at Kendall's thighs before settling on his hips and pulling him down. Only he didn't go for his cock like before, instead lapping his tongue around Kendall's hole.

The blond groaned loud, reaching back and giving the other man a thumbs up, letting him know he was all kinds of okay with being eaten out. James held him in place as he lapped at his hole, licking all around it in sloppy motions, getting him wet.

Kendall pulled off his cock, unable to keep sucking and moan at the same time, his head rearing back. James speared his tongue and slipped it inside him, tugging him further down onto his face and causing Kendall to sit up above him. His nose pressed along his crack, whiskers scratching between his cheeks, and the blond felt himself overwhelmed by all the sensations.

He wrapped a hand around his cock, simply holding it against his lower abdomen, a finger sliding inside him. He tightened his grip, reminding himself that coming early wasn't an option, not before he felt that beautiful cock in his ass rather than just in his mouth.

“Shit, James, you better open me up and fuck me soon,” he demanded, not sounding very convincing with how breathy his voice was and how far gone he was feeling.

A chuckle gusted out against his pucker, scruff rubbing against his sensitive flesh and making him hiss. “Impatient little shit.”

“You have no idea.”

Another chuckle, finger slipped out and being replaced by his tongue once again. “God, I could eat you all day.”

Kendall whined out the other man's name, torn between wanting that to happen very, very much and wanting to just be fucked already.

“Top drawer,” James muttered before diving back in, sucking the quivering pucker.

The blond let out a high pitched gasp before leaning over and opening the mentioned drawer, reaching inside and quickly finding the lube and condoms. The bottle was taken from him, the cap snapping open, liquid squelching out before two slick fingers slid inside him.

“Fuck! _Yes_ ,” he groaned, eyes closing as his head fell back. His hips moved on automatic, moving those fingers in and out of him, riding the digits as they stretched him.

James didn't complain, let Kendall move on his own, satisfied with rubbing his beard all over his cheeks and nipping at the irritated flesh. When the blond began whining again, he scissored his fingers, further opening up. A third finger was soon added, the stretch burning a little, but necessary. Kendall'd had his fingers wrapped around James' girth and knew he needed to be opened up a whole lot in order to enjoy it.

He took four fingers, turning him into a quivering, panting, whining mess. He was begging, pleading, slurring out phrases of how he was ready and that he better be fucked sometime soon or he was headed home to his little rubber friend who wouldn't hesitate to drive into him deep. James let out a noise that could only be defined as a growl at that, slapping a cheek before slipping his fingers out. Kendall moved on jellied legs, turning around and straddling the other man's hips. He tore open a condom, actually taking his time to roll it on, James slicking it up with more lube.

“In, in, in,” Kendall demanded, wrapping a hand around James' cock and holding it upright, lining it up with his gaping hole.

James spread Kendall's cheeks and helped lower him onto his dick, both groaning at the intrusion as he slowly entered the blond. Kendall didn't stop until he was fully seated on the larger male, shuddering at the feeling. Shit, he'd never felt so full before, never wanted to just sit and _feel_ it, enjoy it. Normally he was ready to just get the show on the road and start up with the thrusting, but at that moment, he just wanted to hold all of that length inside him and keep it there.

The brunet seemed to be okay with that plan, too, not moving or demanding the other man do it. His clean hand rubbed up and down Kendall's sides in a soothing manner, lube slicked one wrapping around his cock and stroking it once.

“No,” the blond whined, covering a tan hand with his pale one. “Don't wan' come.”

James nodded, licking his lips and that wasn't okay because he should be licking Kendall. Leaning down, the lean male groaned at the shift of the cock inside him before pressing their lips together in a sloppy kiss that was more out of a need for an additional connection than any sort of finesse or skill. Arms wrapped around him, holding him close, one hand slipping down and a fingertip tracing his rim as it stretched around a thick cock.

Kendall moaned, hips bucking on automatic, causing James to make a similar noise. He started moving in tiny motions, barely there thrusts before moving in earnest, pulling the other man out of him before sinking back down. The actions caused their lips to break apart, the blond settling for resting his forehead against the other man's. They were both breathing heavily, shakily, air mingling between them as their bodies were overtaken by sensation.

Their hips began moving together, rhythm speeding up substantially as Kendall moved to a sitting position and started riding the larger male. He started bucking up and down on thrusting hips, cock bouncing with the actions, thighs straining with the effort. But fuck, was it incredible and he never wanted it to stop. Ever. Wanted them to just have sex forever and ever and ever, amen.

Not that it was a possibility, but he could still wanted it to happen, dammit.

Soon though, his legs got too tired, muscles quivering from exertion. But he wasn't close, wasn't quite there yet and he let out a whiny “James”, pleading the other man to help him out.

James took the hint, rolling them over so he was on top. He bent Kendall's legs back, the blond holding them in place, before straightening his own out, leaving just his toes on the bed. Then he started pounding into him, loud slaps that filled the room and made Kendall cry out, moans forced out his lungs with every thrust inside. The change in angle was what he needed, the shift causing the hard cock inside to rub against new areas, teasing different nerves and giving him the friction he was craving.

Green eyes went wide, mouth hanging open with a slack jaw. His harsh breaths were burning his throat, his skin heated all over, sweat covering both of them and mingling together. James' cheeks were flushing, hair sticking to his forehead, pupils blown until there was the slimmest of hazel rings visible around them. He was beautiful and he was Kendall's and they were gonna do this for the rest of their lives, he just knew it.

He was barely aware that he was mumbling, a stream of consciousness flowing from his mouth, declarations about how he wanted to do this every night, in every possible position, in every room on every surface, then do it all over again as he fucked into James. The brunet tucked his legs up close around Kendall's body, on all fours now, driving into him with deep, rolling thrusts. His lips moved all over pale, sweat-soaked skin, promising anything he wanted, anything at all, just let James do it to him.

A broken moan left him as he felt his balls draw up tight to his body, that familiar tingle started at the base of his spine. “'M close,” he murmured. “Close, close, close, so fuckin' close—”

His hand was moved from where it held onto James' sweaty back, the brunet entwining their fingers, just like he did in every single dream of Kendall's. Because it was the two of them, finally together, after twenty-three years of not knowing what he'd been looking for but finding it anyway. Because they were soul mates who'd been together in countless past lives and they'd done this in countless different ways.

Because it was his James. And he was James' Kendall.

It was with that thought that Kendall came untouched, pleasure sparking throughout his entire body, radiating from his cock. Thick white ropes of come spurted out, landing on both their torsos, smearing as James continued to move, continued to thrust, continued to rub against his walls and his prostate and elongate his orgasm.

His passage clenched down hard around the cock still driving into him, making the owner of it cry out in pleasure. His name was a breathy groan as he felt a pulsing inside, the condom being filled as James' tensed up above him, coming in several prolonged thrusts.

Kendall laid there dazed, staring up at a white ceiling as James nuzzled his head into the crook of his neck. Neither spoke a word, both shaky as they came down, as their bodies rebooted after nearly dying via orgasm. _Le petit mort_ as the French called it. And it was so very fucking fitting.

Slowly they came back to themselves, James lifting his head and smiling down at Kendall, who automatically returned the expression. Because he'd put that smirk on James' face, had pleased him and made him orgasm, had made him happy and boneless and come-dumb.

“You okay?” the brunet questioned, getting a nod in response. Because words weren't quite something Kendall was capable of just yet. Neither was feeling his toes. Which, whatever, who needed toes anyway?

James pulled out, holding the condom in place, groaning in an achy manner as he rose to his feet then shuffled off to the bathroom. Kendall stretched out, letting out groans of his own, pain receptors slowly kicking back on and making him aware of minor hurts all over: the burn from James' beard on his ass, face, and neck, the stretch of his rim, the ache of his widened jaw and lips, the cramp in his leg muscles.

All totally worth it.

The brunet returned with a washcloth and wiped him down in careful yet effective motions. Both of them cleaned up, he tossed it into what Kendall assumed was a laundry hamper inside his closet before they both got under the covers. The comforter was shoved to the foot of the bed, both of them still too warm to want its heat and weight over them, utilizing the extra sheet to cover themselves up to their waists instead. They quickly arranged themselves into a comfortable position, James spooning Kendall from behind, hand on a slim chest, Kendall covering it with his own and entwining their fingers again. He felt a nose nuzzle at his hair, a satisfied sigh leaving the larger man as they settled in.

“I'm glad we found each other again,” James murmured sleepily, snuffling slightly.

Kendall smiled as his eyes drifted closed. “I'll always find you, no matter what life we're living.”

A happy “mmm” was the brunet's response, the two of them falling asleep soon after.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Kendall didn't dream that night. About anything. Which would sometimes make him sad, make him feel like he'd missed an opportunity to be with James and for a brief moment, actually know what it felt like to be truly loved and be with someone. But when he woke up and realized he'd had zero dreams period, he was okay with it. Because his reality was turning out to be better than anything his imagination—or his past selves, as he now realized—could ever show him.

Snuggling up to a still snoozing James, he knew that there was nowhere else he'd rather be and no other life he'd rather live than the one he was in right then and there.


End file.
